


reclaim your crown

by SportsAnimeRuinedMyLife (KnightOfRage)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Fluff, Introspection, M/M, Pre-Series, Viktor has a crush, and an early midlife crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 10:38:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8887690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnightOfRage/pseuds/SportsAnimeRuinedMyLife
Summary: Viktor might not be in love yet, but he's getting there.  Pre-series





	

 

So it’s like this.

After hours of driving, Viktor pulls up to his mother’s house.

His car never feels more unnecessarily flashy than it does against the backdrop of his weathered, tiny childhood home. He offered to buy his mama something bigger or nicer, but she always refuses him.

He locks his car and slides the keys in his pocket, walking slowly to the door. It always feels strange to knock, but does anyway. He hasn’t lived her for over a decade, after all.

He hears footsteps and then voices and...

“Mama!” Viktor cries when his mother opens the door.

“Vitya!” She cries delighted, pulling him into a tight hug. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

“I didn’t know I needed an invitation to visit.” He says.

“Hmph, of course not.” She huffs. “But it takes one to get you here most days.”

“Sorry, mama.” He says automatically.

“Well, come on.” She says, ignoring his apology. “I was finishing up dinner. Your sister is over...we should have enough for you too, though.”

He follows her inside with a smile.

It’s just her in the small house now that Viktor and his sister have left. His father died when he was small in a factory accident. He remembers very little of the man beyond a broad chest, a booming laugh and a smile saved especially for Viktor. There’s a picture of him hung on the wall in the narrow entryway. When he was young Viktor used to stare at it, searching for things they had in common.

He glances at it now and it doesn’t hurt. The wound of his father’s absence is old and healed.

“I hope you’re hungry.” She says. “I’ve been cooking all day.”

“I’m always hungry for your cooking.” He says loyally.

“Good answer!” She chuckles. “Now come on, we were just setting the table.”

He waves hello to his sister before he goes grabs forks and plates from the drawers as his mother brings the food over. Everything is still where he remembers it being even after all of this time. It gives the whole house a timeless feeling. Viktor feels young and almost dangerously free.

It only takes a few minutes for the three of them to set up the table and settle down. Viktor breathes in the scent of his mother’s cooking deeply. It won’t be the best food he’s ever tasted. He’s traveled the world, been served by the best and most famous chefs out there. But, somehow, his mother’s cooking is still his favorite.

He doesn’t look anything like his mother. She has work-rough hands and ruddy cheeks and wild salt and pepper hair that she never bothers to tame. He offered to help her with it once, back when his was long, and she laughed at him for a solid five minutes. She’s a good woman, a warm woman, and Viktor loves her.

It terrifies him when he sees the deep wrinkles around her eyes, the increasing amount of white in her hair. He does his best to put it out of mind.

“When are you going to bring me home a pretty girl, eh Vitya?” His mother starts once they are all supplied with food and alcohol. It’s a typical first question. Viktor’s apparent lack of a love life is her favorite topic.

“Ah, mama.” He smiles at her and doesn’t bother to mention that if he finds someone to bring home it definitely won’t be a girl. That is a hurdle he will jump when he has to and not before. “I have the Grand Prix next month! Let me bring you home a gold medal first, hmmm?”

“You already have too many of those.” She scoffs, waving a dismissive hand.

Katya laughs. “Mama!” She scolds. Katya is his sister, older than he is by two years. She looks a bit like Viktor, softer and shorter perhaps, but they have the same eyes and the same lovely hair. She was sought by every boy in the neighborhood growing up, but thanks to her mean right hook they usually only sought after her once before giving up.

That hardly matters now, though.

“How is your husband?” VIktor asks her, eager to get the conversation away from his depressing lack of a romantic life.

Katya married right out of high school. Viktor had had to miss the wedding because of a competition, but he’s seen the pictures. Her dress was beautiful. He wishes he would have been home to help with her hair, though. Ah, well. She had looked happy in the pictures.

“He’s got a bit of a cold.” She says. “He and Andry usually come with me to see mama when they’re feeling well.”

“Well give them my love.” Viktor says.

“Of course.” Katya smiles.

Her husband is a short fellow, already balding at twenty-nine. Viktor has never understood why Katya married him, but when he asks she just smiles and tell him that he makes her happy.

The only thing that has ever made Viktor happy is skating; the crisp sound of the ice hissing beneath perfectly sharpened blades, the triumph of climbing higher than anyone else again and again.

He wonders how much longer, how much higher he can climb. He tries to put that out of mind too. 

They finish dinner slowly, chattering easily about old memories and eating a massive amount of stroganoff. Viktor is breaking his diet, but his mother’s cooking is delicious. Hopefully Yakov will forgive him.

Once dinner is finished, Viktor helps wash the dishes and put away the leftovers. His mother pleads exhaustion soon after, heading off to bed and leaving Viktor with a pile of blankets and an invitation for him to sleep on the couch.

He and Katya linger around the table for a while longer, drinking and talking about nothing in particular.

“I should get going.” She says after an hour or so, glancing at her phone. “It’s gotten late.”

“Stay.” He urges Katya as she gets out of her chair. “Just for a while longer. It’s my only night off until after the Grand Prix. Have another drink with me!”

“I’m sorry, Vitya.” She says, leaning down beside his chair to kiss his cheek. “Andry has school tomorrow. I need to get back.”

“Right.” He says and smiles at her as widely as he can manage. “Right, I’d forgotten he was school age now.”

His nephew, Andry, must be at least seven by now. Viktor has met him a grand total of three times. Between the rink and traveling, there’s never been enough time for him to spend any real time with the boy. He’s seen more of Yuri’s childhood than of his own nephews. But that’s because they have a commonality, that’s because they have skating.

He looks up at Katya, inspired. “Would you ever want to bring Andry down to the rink sometime?” He asks brightly. “I can help him with skating.”

“Oh.” Katya looks a bit sad. “I don’t think he’s ever skated. He doesn’t really like it.”

Viktor takes another gulp of his drink. It burns. “What does he like?”

“Basketball, actually. He plays with some of the boys who live on our street.” Katya says. “But we always watch you when you’re on tv, though. Don’t worry.”

“Of course. Thank you for the support.” Viktor says softly, more to himself than to her.

“I should go. Goodnight, Vitka.”

“Yes. Goodnight.”

He doesn’t look up when she lets herself out.

**~~~~**

Viktor walks into practice the next day, extremely tired and mildly hungover. His mother’s house is hours away. He had to wake up before dawn just to reach the rink before lunchtime.

The skaters on the rink take notice of him almost immediately. Viktor has to smile. It looks like his absence yesterday was noted. He waves at Georgi and gets a stoic nod in reply. Mila waves. Yuri pretends not to have noticed him.

Ah, it’s good to be home.

_“Viiiiiiiktooooooor!”_

And, of course, Yakov has noticed him as well and is charging towards him with a truly impressive scowl.

“Oh, hello Yakov.” Viktor says brightly. “How are you today?”

“Idiot!” Yakov ignores his question and slaps the back of his head. “You missed an _entire day_ of practice!”

“I felt like visiting my mother.” Viktor says airly, not telling Yakov that the rink had suddenly felt like it was pushing in on all sides, like the sunlight reflecting off the ice was blinding, like he might have gone insane if he stayed a second longer. He doesn’t tell Yakov that he didn’t have a real destination in mind when he got into his car and started driving. He eventually ended up at his mother’s house out of habit .

It’s the only place he ever really goes other than his apartment and the rink.

Viktor doesn’t say any of that to Yakov because it doesn’t having any bearing on his ability to skate. He starts humming a cheery tune he heard on the radio, duffle bag slung over his shoulder, and walks past Yakov and towards the locker rooms.

“The Grand Prix is a month away.” Yakov growls, catching his duffle by the strap so he has to stop. “You can’t be wandering off just because you feel like it.”

“Yes, yes.” Viktor says dismissively, looking out towards the ice. “Hm, I see that little Yuri is in rare form today.”

Yakov just snorts. Yuri Plietsky is swooping and spiraling over the ice, his skates flashing. He’s impressive for someone so young. He’ll likely give Viktor a run for his money one of these days. That is, if he doesn’t retire before Yuri moves up.

Ah, retirement. A horrible, looming prospect that grows closer all the time. Viktor knows the clock is ticking for him, faster and faster every day.

“I’m sorry I left without telling you.” He tells Yakov, unprompted. He sees Yakov start in surprise, but Viktor keeps his eyes on the boy dancing in the rink. “It was foolish, wasn’t it?”

“You’re always foolish, Vitya.” Yakov snorts. “I’m used to it by now.”

Viktor smiles faintly without meaning it and doesn’t answer.

He’s felt discontented all day. Last night when he was lying on his mother’s couch, cramped and moderately drunk, he realized some things. He realized that doesn’t know his sister or her son. He realized he’s never had a relationship that amounted to more than a few quick fumbles in hotel rooms and storage closets. He realized he doesn’t have a life off the ice, not really, and he doesn’t know why that never occurred to him before.

He looks away from Yuri and back to Yakov. “Do you think,” He says slowly, “I could do something else if I wanted?”

“Where the hell is this coming from?”

Viktor just shrugs.

“Skating is what you’re good at, Vitya.” Yakov rumbles, not unkindly. “Don’t overthink it.”

Viktor waits for a long moment without speaking. Yakov releases his bag and so Viktor starts towards the locker rooms again. After a few steps, he glances back towards Yakov with a smile. “I want to practice my quad flips today.” He says, “I still feel a little wobbly on the landing.”

“Go get changed, Vitya.” Yakov grumbles, but he looks satisfied again.

He’s right.

Viktor has another Grand Prix to win. Nothing else matters.

**~~~~**

Viktor wins the Grand Prix in Sochi.

For a moment, he knows the sweet and simple bliss of climbing still higher.

But the medal around his neck is heavy.

And the eyes of the men he beat, Chris and J.J. and the others standing back on the sidelines, are heavier.

The expectations of crowd cheering his name over and over are the heaviest thing he’s ever had to bear.

**~~~~**

When Viktor was seven, he almost drowned.

There was a pond down the street from their tiny house and he would skate on it all winter long on a pair of skates he had gotten secondhand. He would skate every day, trying to jump like the people he saw on their tiny, grainy tv.

One unusually warm winter day, he went out to find the ice on the pond almost mushy. Because he was very stubborn and also seven, he skated anyway. The ice lasted a full five minutes before he fell through and was plunged into cold, dark water.

He clawed his way through the water and the ice and, gasping, he managed to get out of the pond. Shivering and terrified and crying just a little, he limped his way back home. When his mother saw him, she hugged him and wrapped him in a pile of blankets and shoved hot drinks at him until he could stop shivering.

The next day she forbid him from ever skating on the pond again and took him to the ice rink. A year or so later, it’s where Yakov found him.

It’s been close to twenty years, but he’s never forgotten the feeling of falling through the ice. He feels it the moment he steps off the rink with his latest shiny gold medal around his neck. Viktor can feel the inevitable plunge waiting for him, can feel the ice growing mushy and weak under his skates.

He can’t do this much longer. But he’s still stubborn and he doesn’t want to fall into whatever waits for him under the steadily melting ice.

He spends the rest of the day in a distracted haze. He smiles at reporters and offers to take pictures with fans and accepts every congratulations that is thrown at him.

But the medal on his neck is so heavy and the sister and the nephew he barely know are watching him on tv and every second his retirement gets closer and closer and he doesn’t know what he’ll do when it reaches him.

He feels unsteady, unbalanced, and he hates it.

“Vitya.”

“Mmmm?” Viktor looks up.

Yakov is standing there, grumpy and familiar as anything. He puts a heavy hand on Viktor’s shoulder. He smells like cigarette smoke and mothballs.

“Get ready.” He says. “The banquet will be starting soon.”

Viktor breathes.

“Of course.”

**~~~~**

The banquet starts like all banquets do. Yakov scowls at his skaters, tells them to keep it professional and releases them into the crowd while he proceeds to smoke cigar after cigar even though there is definitely a sign telling him he’s not allowed to.

Viktor takes his time doing his rounds.

Lots of people are here for Viktor, just for him. That used to be a heady thing, having that kind of pull and power over people. Now it’s accepted, just another part of the Viktor Nikiforov Grand Prix experience.

Yuri slouches alongside him, holding a glass of champagne that he’s not supposed to have and clearly not drinking it because he doesn’t like the taste. VIktor would call him cute if he wasn’t such a complete shit.

“I’m gonna kick your ass next year, old man.” Yuri mumbles when he catches Viktor watching him.

“Oh, really?” Viktor says boredly.

“Yes _really_.” Yuri growls and he continues on, still talking about Viktor’s inevitable demise.

Viktor stops listening and instead scans the room, looking for Chris or another familiar face. He catches sight of Coach Celestino, a face in the figure skating community. Huh, Viktor didn't know one of his skaters made it this year. The boy standing next to him is wearing a slightly-too-big suit and an expression of such despair that Viktor feels a bit sorry for him.

He’s cute, even with the blue-rimmed glasses that he’s wearing.

Viktor wonders idly who he is, but then he spots someone he knows across the room and he forgets it.

**~~~~**

A half hour or so later, Viktor is back to watching the boy in the ill-fitting suit and blue glasses. He’s no longer just sulking in the middle of the crowd. Now he is sulking on the edge, right next to the champagne. There are…there are a lot of empty glasses in front of him.

Chris is standing beside Viktor, sipping his own champagne and flirting outrageously with anyone who gets too close. So, typical Chris behavior.

“Hey.” Viktor elbows him.

“Mmmm?” Chris raises an eyebrow.

“Who is that?” Viktor jerks his chin towards the boy in the corner starting on, jesus, his ninth glass of champagne.

“Yuuri Katsuki.” Chris says easily. “He skated today...you didn’t see him?”

Viktor shakes his head. He had watched Chris’s performance, but that was the only one. Which, in retrospect, was probably kind of rude. He’s not sure why he didn’t bother to watch his competitors he only knows that he didn’t.

“Well,” Chris’s voice stalls his train of thought before it can get further, “He came sixth...I’ve seen him skate before. He’s good with presentation, but he tends to flubs his jumps.”

“Hmmm.” Viktor takes a sip of the champagne he’s holding. It’s his second glass because, as Yakov likes to remind him every year, it is important to be professional. He glances at Yuuri Katsuki who tends to flub his jumps and who is red-faced (and still cute) behind his glasses.

Chris, though, has started to chat about how he’s moved in with his boyfriend recently and, because Viktor is (on occasion) a supportive friend he listens and looks away from the boy in corner who is on his tenth glass of champagne.

**~~~~**

They’re only an hour or so into the banquet and Yuuri Katsuki is _spectacularly_ drunk. Viktor doesn’t have to be subtle in his staring anymore because everyone else is staring at him too. He’s loudly explaining the plot of a Thai movie called The King and the Skater to anyone who bothers to listen.

Viktor kind of wants to go over and talk to him, but he can already hear the scolding from Yakov so he stays where he is. Watching.

Yuuri stops in the middle of a sentence, literally perking up like a Makkachin when he sees something tasty he wants to eat, and shouts, “Hey! You!”

Viktor (and like forty percent of the people in the room) all look to see who he’s yelling at. Viktor breaks out in snickers when he sees that Yuuri is pointed at his rinkmate Yuri.

“ _Heeeeey_ other Yuri!” Yuuri says, waving at him with an alarming amount of enthusiasm. Yuri’s face contorts in absolute fury. Viktor holds up his phone to take a picture. It takes him _hours_ of needling to get Yuri his angry. “You think you’re so great, don’cha?”

Yuri literally snarls. Japanese Yuuri seems unphased.

“If you think your’re better than me,” He says, “Come and prove it! Dance off, you and me, right now!”

“What the hell.” Yuri snaps. “No, I am not having a dance off with you, you complete moron.”

Viktor is mildly proud that Yuri managed to keep from swearing.

“Huh? What is it?” Yuuri says, bouncing on his heels. “Are you _scaaaared_?”

“You know what,” Yuri snaps and doesn’t even finish the sentence before flinging off his jacket and he starts dancing in a way that can only be described as aggressive. Across the room, Viktor sees Yakov facepalm.

He keeps taking pictures, sidling closer and closer while most people back away. He stands on the edges, snapping photos and laughing as Yuri proceeds to get his ass kicked by Yuuri Katsuki, who is an insanely good dancer even when he’s totally wasted.

Viktor laughs delightedly as Yuri starts spewing insults and blushing a bright scarlet. He’s the worst loser Viktor has ever met (the worst winner too, actually), even with something like this that’s totally stupid.

“Better luck next time!” Viktor tells him.

“Fuck off, Nikiforov.” Yuri snarls.

Viktor just laughs.

“Hey!” Yuuri seems to notice him standing there and he beams, like Viktor is who he’s been waiting for all evening. “Viktor! Come and dance with me!”

“I…” Viktor stops, blinking in surprised. In his whole life, he doesn’t think he’s ever been asked to dance. He’s Viktor Nikiforov and so he’s the one expected to do the asking.

“Come on!” Yuuri says, holding out a hand. His voice is mildly impatient, like Viktor is keeping him waiting. 

And Viktor, against all of his better judgement and Yakov’s voice in his ear reminding him to be a professional, takes it.

**~~~~**

The banquet is, objectively speaking, a disaster.

It’s also the most fun that Viktor has had in years.

He dances with Yuuri and it’s fun and silly and _surprising_. They take turns leading, they take turns deciding which dances to do, they take turns laughing at Yuri’s scandalized face.

“Spin me!” Yuuri insists. “Oh, and then let me spin you!”

Viktor laughs and then obliges. He know that people are staring but he can’t actually make himself care with this funny, handsome, _devastating_ man making him dance and making him smile and making him laugh. He hasn’t felt anything like this in a long time. Actually, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt anything like this.

Yuuri flits off every now and then, sometimes going to pester Yuri and then other times going to pole dance with Chris. Which, wow, is something that Viktor is literally never going to be able to forget. Also, he’s sort of wondering where the pole came from.

He’s willing to bet that it was Chris’s doing. He usually blames things like miraculous stripper poles on Chris.

But between wandering about, Yuuri always comes back to Viktor. Sometimes, it’s to offer him a glass of champagne or a bit of food and then other times it’s to ask for another dance and a few times it’s just to grin at Viktor like he couldn’t think of anything he’d want to see more.

Regardless, Viktor is flattered by Yuuri’s consistent attention. He feels almost like he’s being courted.

After the dance off and the laughing and all of the scandalized whispers, Yuuri clings to Viktor and, in Japanese, asks something. Viktor, who doesn’t speak a word of Japanese, just stares at him. He pouts and then, after a moment, he says in English, “Viktor...be my coach!”

“I…” Viktor feels himself blush, but doesn’t know what to say. Coaching? Him? Is that...is that really something that he could _do_? Yuuri is still looking at him and wriggling in a way that is, quite frankly, very distracting. And he’s still babbling, about Japan and about how much he wants Viktor to see it. And Viktor, god help him, really, _really_ wants to. He wants to follow this silly, beautiful boy wherever he wants to go. He wants to help him be amazing. 

But Viktor doesn’t properly answer him because he has no idea how he’s supposed to say any of that. 

Things start to die down around them. People, most of them thoroughly scandalized, are leaving in groups of two or three. Yakov doesn’t look scandalized. He just looks dead inside. He drags Yuri and Mila away by the wrists and leaves Viktor, clearly cutting his loses.

Viktor can’t blame him. He’s still a bit distracted.

Yuuri is holding onto him, warm and beautiful and smiling. He keeps asking if Viktor wants to go upstairs and, fuck, if he could get through that sentence in English in one go, then Viktor might be tempted. But he’s clearly wasted, so Viktor manages to find his coach and together they get Yuuri back to his room.

Yuuri keeps his arms around Viktor all through the elevator ride, murmuring against Viktor’s neck in soft Japanese. Viktor never thought he had a language kink before, but apparently he does. That or everything Yuuri Katsuki does seems insanely sexy.

Either way, it’s mildly embarrassing how attractive he finds Yuuri’s warbly Japanese.

“I don’t understand that, sweetheart.” He says softly, because Yuuri seems to be waiting for a response. “English would work better, if you can manage it.”

“You’ll coach me?” He asks again in English, hiccuping half the words. Oh no, he’s so cute.

“Call me.” Viktor says, finding a pen in his pocket and scrawling his phone number on Yuuri’s arm. He feels reckless and infatuated and mildly insane, so fuck it. “Call me and we’ll talk about it. About coaching. And about...everything. Okay?”

“Mmmmmkay.” Yuuri sings and leans up to plant a very sloppy kiss on Viktor’s cheek.

Viktor is still blushing furiously, fingers resting against his (slightly damp) cheek when the elevator dings to a stop.

“Thank you for the help, Nikiforov.” Celestino says thickly, giving him a wobbly wave. He’s probably only a bit more sober than Yuuri is.

Yuuri smiles at him, wide and sincere. “I like you a lot, Viktor Nikiforov.”

“Uh, yeah.” Viktor feels unsteady, unbalanced as he watches them go. “I...yeah.” He likes it. He likes it a lot.

**~~~**

Viktor can’t sleep after he gets back to his hotel room.

He takes a bath and tries to calm down, but he’s just so _excited_. He’s never felt like this before and it’s just...it’s so stupid. And so exciting. He hugs his pillow and hides his face in it so no one, not even his empty hotel room, can see how wide he’s smiling.

He finds himself looking up Yuuri Katsuki on his phone before he can think of a good reason not to. There’s not much in English and less in Russian. But after a wikipedia page that is only a few sentences and a page that went through a rough google translate from Japanese to Russian, Viktor is moderately sure that Yuuri is 23 years old and that he studied in America for a while, which explains why his English was so good.

23 years old ...huh, that’s close enough to 27 not to be weird, right? Viktor is pretty sure it’s fine.

Yeah, it’s probably fine.

He hopes it’s fine.

He shuts off his phone after that and tries to sleep. But, nope. He’s still too excited. So he opens his phone again and spends the rest of the night huddled under his covers scrolling through tourist information about Japan and a wikihow article about coaching figure skating.

**~~~~**

After a day, Yuuri doesn’t call.

It’s fine, it’s totally fine. He’s probably hung over. He'll call tomorrow. 

Viktor teases Yuri about the dance off at breakfast and doesn’t answer when reporters ask him about his plans for the next year.

He needs to talk to Yuuri before they make it official, after all.

**~~~~**

A week passes. Yuuri still hasn’t called.

Viktor opens up the pictures of the banquet and thinks about deleting them, but he can’t make himself do.

**~~~~**

After months, there has still been no word from Yuuri Katsuki.

Viktor isn’t mad, per se, he’s just...a bit _confused_. Because Yuuri asked him. And so Viktor though he would _maybe_ follow up on that. Or at least tell him if he changed his mind. So, yeah. It’s a bit confusing.

So Viktor is _confused_.

No, no, scratch that. He’s not confused. He’s mad. He’s more than mad. He’s pissed.

But pissed is an emotion that he can work with a lot better than disappointment, so he holds onto it aggressively. He keeps skating and, while spite and annoyance aren’t his usual methods of motivation, they work well enough. And he keeps winning because he’s Viktor fucking Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki is an idiot to think that Viktor would really just drop everything to go coach him.

Such an idiot.

In the rare moments that he’s not busy focusing on how he was _wronged_ , Viktor feels like the ice is getting mushy again. He thought he found the next step, the way to get off of the ice before he fell through, but he was wrong.

The ice is still all he has.

And so he’s going to take it for all it has. He’s going to make anyone who ever thought he would leave it realize that they were stupid. Viktor is going to choreograph the best, sexiest program anyone had ever seen and he is going to win so many gold medals with it while stupid, sexy Katsuki Yuuri looks on and regrets all of his choices.

He’s going to keep climbing higher. He has to keep climbing higher.

He spirals over the ice, movements echoing a dance he did with a funny, handsome, devastating man at a banquet that he can’t make himself forget.

He’s never coming down.

**~~~~**

Viktor wakes up one day with a hundred notifications on his phone. It seems like every person he knows has sent him the link to the same video.

He opens and, despite himself, his breath catches just a bit. He recognizes the boy in the frame, standing alone on the ice. It’s Yuuri. He doesn’t think before he presses play. He doesn’t think about his half-finished Eros routine, he doesn’t think about the pictures on his phone he still hasn’t deleted.

He just presses play and he watches Yuuri move across the ice.

The routine that he’s skating...he knows it. It’s Viktor’s routine. It’s Stay Close to Me..

Yuuri skates like he can hear music even though there’s nothing there. Yuuri skates and Viktor can hear music even though there’s nothing there. Yuuri skates and Viktor is breathless.

He watches the video once, twice, three times and he can’t look away.

Yuuri skates like the understands, like he feels every line of the song that’s not even playing and, god, Viktor wants to be there with him, skating alongside him.

Should he try to send him a message? Chris might know how to get in contact with him. Or maybe he could wait until competition season starts and then they could talk.

Or... _no_.

No. Fuck, he’s not doing this again. Yuuri Katsuki asked all those months ago and then he skated Viktor’s program like he understood it and, honestly, that’s enough. Viktor is going to go to Japan and be his coach. He’s not waiting, he’s not second guessing. He’s Viktor Nikiforov but if he doesn’t actually try when he wants something what is that even good for?

“Okay.” He opens his computer and he books a one-way flight to Japan for himself and Makkachin. “Okay.”

**~~~~**

“Mama.” Viktor says.

“Vitya?” Her voice is tinny and unfamiliar over the phone. He can barely hear it over the rumble of the airport around him. He’s waiting by his gate, Makachin’s head on his knee. “Is that you? You never call!”

He laughs awkwardly and doesn’t disagree. He’s horrible about remembering things, even important things like calling his mother. “I know...it’s just that I’m going to be out of the country for a little while and I wanted to let you know.”

“For another competition?” She asks.

“Er, no.” Viktor taps his feet a few times. “I think I’m going to take a little break from those, actually.”

She’s silent for moment, then, “Vitya. Is everything okay?”

He doesn’t know how to answer that because, honestly? He’s not sure if he is okay. He’s _something_ certainly, but he’s not sure if okay is a fair way to categorize it. “I’m trying something new, mama.” He says. “I just...yeah. It’s different.”

“What is it?” She sounds concerned. “Is it dangerous?”

“What? No, of course not.” His feet are still tapping. “It’s a bit of a long story, but there’s another figure skater and he asked me to coach him. And I want to.”

“I see.” She still sounds confused. He probably should have talked to her about this a while ago. Or at least hinted that he was thinking about leaving the rink. “Where did you meet this skater? Is he a friend of yours?”

“Well, sort of.” He glances up at the departures board. It’s almost time for him to go. He was actually supposed to leave an hour ago, actually, but Aerofloat is the worst. “We haven’t spent that much time together, but um. His name is Yuuri Katsuki and he’s from Japan and I really think he’s something _special_ , mama.”

“Oh.” Is all she says. He apparently did not to a good enough job of keeping his infatuation out of his voice. He can hear the shock in hers, even from that single not-quite-word.

“I like him.” He says, desperate for her to understand all of the sudden, “He’s fun and cute and I _like him_.”

“Vitya…” She sounds tired.

“I’m sorry,” He says with a wince, realizing too late that the phone probably isn’t the best place for this conversation. “I should have come to see you before I left.”

“Is this why you haven’t brought home a nice girl?” She asks and she doesn’t sound mad. He’s grateful for that, at least.

“I mean, partly.” Viktor admits. “But, really...it was skating. It’s all I’ve ever had. It’s all I ever had the time for.”

“I just want you to be happy, Vitya.” She says after a long, quiet moment. “Do you think that this...that this boy will make you happy?”

“Mama…” He cradles the phone close, thinking of the banquet and the dancing and the laughter and the way that Yuuri looked when he skated. “He already has.”

“Then go.” She says at long last. “And be happy.”

Viktor bites his lip to keep from smiling too wide. “I love you.” He says.

“I love you too, Vitya.” She says. “I always will. No matter what.”

They say their goodbyes and Viktor slips the phone into his pocket. He feels strange without the familiar weight of his mother’s expectations. She wants him happy. That’s all she wants. Huh. That’s good. It’s...more than good. It’s amazing.

The speakers above him crackle to life, calling for first class passengers to board.

Viktor takes a deep breath and he stands.

Time for a new adventure.

**Author's Note:**

> i love viktor so very much and thinking about how lonely he must have been before yuuri causes me pain...so i thought would share some of that pain with all of you lovely people! 
> 
> title is from lauren aquilina's [king](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_WmSPTkmBTA) (it's my viktor-feelings song...go and listen its great~) 
> 
> and [here i am on tumblr!!!](http://theroadgoesawayfromhere.tumblr.com/)


End file.
